The King and His Fool
by KitCat Italica
Summary: My attempt at an extended metaphor. B/J implied slash
1. The King and His Fool

The King and His Fool

There once was a king. A great and powerful king, whose kingdom belonged to his subjects, but was eternally his. His path to the throne was fraught with violence and bloodshed, but Lady Justice guided his way. Victory was ever his dream, but never his goal; his goal was progress.

Before his reign, Terror owned the day. Corruption plagued the palace court, yet no one paid it any mind. Until he came. He drove out the tyrants and took the throne, not because he wanted it, but because he was needed.

And so it began. Each night the queenless king made his solemn way to the iron black throne, a simple crown of two horns adorning his brow. Most could not see it, or perhaps chose not to, but his other crown – his _real_ crown – hung on the wall behind him. A crown of thorns.

Each night he sat on his reluctantly inherited throne, granting the needs of his subjects. Criminals hung their heads in front of him, yet a sword never touched their necks. For executions were never the order of the night – justice had other methods, and swiftly and surely fell upon the transgressors.

Everyone feared his power and his wrath. Some hated him, and conspired to topple his rule, but they always failed, for they could never completely conquer the king of their spirits. And so the king ruled, ever in the hearts and minds of his people, though they never realized it themselves. He lived in them, and thus he could never die.

Yet a shadow always cast itself over the king's court, cast by a solitary figure that forever lurked behind the king's throne: the smiling jester, whose constant presence everyone tried to ignore and deny. But there he remained, cackling at each soul that kneeled before the king's feet, the theatrics of the display his personal amusement. He served as a reminder that it was all a sham – that the king, for all his power, was only as human as his subjects. Men and women saw the grinning fool as they looked on their king, and walked away with heavy hearts. For victory would never come as long as the fool remained.

Most would flatly deny it, but they knew the jester existed in their souls just as much as their king. He was as much a king as their monarch. And the king himself refused to admit it, but the jester existed because of _him_.

And far worse, he existed because of the jester.

Yet a powerful secret held its breath in the courtroom, unbeknownst to the subjects, even to the servants, forever faithful to their king. In the early hours of the morning, before the breaking dawn, the subjects would leave the royal courtroom and return to their homes and villages, to carry on with their daily lives. In the echoing stillness of the silhouetted hall, the king would sit alone in silence. But he was never alone, for the jester forever lurked behind him.

However, when the night was still, the palace empty, and all quiet and lonely, the jester would take his proper place. _His_ throne only ever existed whilst the king sat on his. But as the night reaches its darkest hours before the dawn, the jester ascends to his invisible, rightful throne of the king's lap. His feet propped on the black throne's arm, his head resting on the king's shoulder, the jester wears his true crown of the king's gentle fingers, running through his hair.

And together, all alone except for each other, the king and his fool wait out the dark night, awaiting the golden streaks of dawn to begin their new day.

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**Thus I return to my slash fics. ^^ ****And I'm totally wanting a picture drawn of this, but I have no art skills. Just throwing that out there, if anyone's interested. Go crazy.**


	2. Returns a King

Returns a King

The king listens in the palace hall. Something is wrong. More so than usual. The servants seem more tense than is the norm, whispering constantly amongst themselves behind turned backs and closed doors. But the king hears the whispers. He always does. And he knows what they mean.

He knew it would have been only a matter of time. The silence had been too good to last.

Rising to his feet, he wearily marches down the grand entrance, towards the door. The most trusted of his servants sees him leave, and knows why. Eventually, word leaks out: the king has left, once again vanished with no prior notice. Yet they all know the reason.

The reason is the jester's equally mysterious absence.

And so the palace sits perched in limbo with bated breath, to await their monarch's return.

Finally, after weeks of hushed peace masking silent deterioration, a sour chord of a trumpet fanfare is heard. The palace bursts into bustle. A frenzied, whispered chorus of "The king has returned!" sweeps through the court, as the guards take their positions to greet their king and his returning captive. The people kneel in their rehearsed assembly in a humble welcome.

When the doors burst open, the guards drop to their knees in horror. For a king and a captive have indeed returned.

Just not in the order they had anticipated.

The mad jester waltzes through the grand entrance, twirling his harlequin-headed scepter in one hand and dragging the chained king behind him with the other. His army of ghoulish clowns scatters like ants behind him, slashing and pulverizing the petrified subjects along the way.

The balance of power has shifted again.

The usurped ruler is chained to the wall behind the throne, his body splayed in the shape of a cross. The jester king watches in a gleeful reverence, taking care that his slaves do not harm his beloved trophy. Upon his orders, the crown of thorns on the wall is placed upon the martyr's head, held high on his brow by the two horns that still spring from his ears. The horns hold up his thorny halo, as his black cloak is fanned out about him, appearing as the dark wings of an angel fallen into hell. The demonic savior. The Satanic messiah.

The royal fool takes his newly-stolen black throne at the head of the hall, and out of sheer terror and panic the subjects bow down to their new ruler. He orders half to be executed, unless they choose ten young men among them to act as sacrifices, to please the gods above and bestow good fortune upon the new ruler. Instantly, they scramble, turning the sacred hall to chaos.

The conqueror hides a sly grin, while the crucified king shakes his head in defeat. For no one realizes but them: there are no sacrifices to be made that would end this.

For they are the only gods in this kingdom.

Late that night, when the waning gibbous moon shines bright on the bloodied hall, the only two remaining disrupt their silent vigil.

"You'll never break them."

The jester smiles. "All in good time, my liege."

"You can kill all you like, but you can't undo them completely. Not while I remain here."

"Oh?" the fool chuckles, "and why is that?"

"Because they still fall under my protection," grunts the reply from behind him. "Just as you held the power to destroy them when you stood behind me, so do I hold the power to keep them safe as I hang behind you."

The jester's eyes never move as he stares out into the open night. "This is my time now," he intones. "You've had your fun hiding me from them. It's time I hid you away while I took center stage in their hearts and minds."

The hall falls silent again with the cold finality of his words. The monarch has spoken.

"Besides," he adds, "maybe I like you better behind me. This way…" he trails off, staring at the moon.

The martyr finally breaks the stillness. "This way what?"

"…this way…you can always be watching over me."

The quiet settles in for the rest of the night, as the jester is only met with his fellow king's grave, acquiescent silence. For he knows the jester, as always, speaks the truth.

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**A flurry of brainstorm at midnight sparked this, and the medieval metaphor fic is continued!!! I also hammered out three more chapters in addition to this one, so stay tuned! :D As always, tell me whatcha think. I value the opinions of those who review me very highly. Have at it. **

**This chapter is named after/inspired by the song "Returns a King" from the 300 soundtrack. Weird, cool movie; BRILLIANT soundtrack. **

**This still contains slash in the coming chapters, but nothing *too* graphic. Just heads up. **


	3. The Jester Queen

The Jester-Queen

The king lies back against the wall in quiet submission. The chains refuse to budge, as does the will of the jester. Nothing seems to sway his adamant mind; he intends to enjoy his victory as long as possible. Including this agonizing torture of leaving him here to dry on the wall, while he just sits there on the throne and smiles to himself. He knows the jester is smiling, for he never stops smiling when someone else suffers.

Then, his smile widens as a third party enters the dark hall. Footsteps clack down the grand entrance as a woman skips head-over-heels into the deserted court towards the new king.

Indeed, a woman. For the jester has taken some liberties during his new reign. He has decided to indulge wholeheartedly into all benefits the throne has to offer. Including his newest toy. His queen. The Jester-Queen.

Blonde, small, pretty, sharp. She wears her red and black royal attire, as thus befits the Queen of Cards. She holds a royal flush in the hand she was dealt when given the throne next to his, and she full well knows it. Little does she know that, in the end, Jokers always trump all.

She leaps giggling into her lord's lap, nuzzling him and telling him the silliest jokes as she caresses his hair, just as the chained king used to do. He takes her greedily into his arms and laughs madly with her (and at her), letting her roam her petite hands all over him in the most lascivious of manners.

She continues dithering away, cuddled up next to his ear, and he clutches her possessively against him. He turns to peer over her blonde head to meet the glaring, jealous eyes of the captive behind him, knowing smile betraying his purpose. For she means nothing to him, just as any other subject. She only serves as another tool for him. Another tool to use against his king. To taunt, to mock, to accelerate the burning of his soul as he presses false lips to the queen's head, knowing full well who they have always – and will always – belong to.

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**I've always toyed with the idea of Harley being just another way for Joker to get attention from Batman, to mock him with what he can't have. Or can he...xD**

**Kind of inspired by the song "Cursed by Beauty" from the 300 soundtrack.**


	4. What Must a King Do?

What Must a King Do?

It had all begun in the king's battle tent.

It had been the latest campaign against the enemies of the kingdom, and he was of course obligated to travel with his army. Even if asked to stay in the palace to handle matters of diplomacy, he knew he would have come anyway. No matter how much the head of housekeeping insist he stay, he would fight nonetheless. Because he was needed. Because he had to.

The captain of the guard had just gone over their latest strategy with him for the next morning's final victory, and then left him alone for the night.

With the prisoner.

Normally prisoners were kept in a separate tent under the constant watch of the elite order of sentinels, but not this one. It wasn't that the army officers wished their king ill will, far from it. It was just that no one else could be trusted around this particular prisoner. Experience had painfully taught them that even the slightest bend of his phrases could snap their tempers and drive them to dangerous extremes. So the king was left alone with the jester to watch him, maintaining his brooding manner of silence as he always did.

The problem was, he wasn't entirely sure if even _he_ could trust himself around the fool anymore.

He couldn't bear to face the jester; not in the memories of the countless lives lost to that cackling face. And so he stood with his back to the fool in dominating silence, while the smiling prisoner sat chained to a post in the middle of the tent, grinning up at his captor's back.

When he began to speak with that vile tongue of his, the king merely stood there, letting the words roll over his conscience and away from his battered mind. There was no need to listen to the babblings of the prisoner; it would cause more harm than good. And so he continued to passively ignore the fool's banter.

That is, until some of the banter began to fester in his head.

He spoke of many things, each word a knife that twisted deeper into the king's heart. The innocents gone; the soldiers slaughtered; the loved ones lost. Even how the king himself was lost, doomed to the tide of war that he could never slow, only bear the brunt of for his people. The king let an irritated sigh escape his nostrils, but he refused to respond to the jester's taunts.

Until his body began unexpectedly responding for him.

His jaw clenched as the jester hit on topics closer to home, targeting those the king knew and trusted personally. He chose his words well, worming their way into the king's ears with toxic accuracy. He especially took care to lace his speech with certain turns of phrases that whispered of…other things, stabbing at the honor of the king's advisors while perking up the king's ears to the devious innuendos…

Then the arrow hit the king's heartstrings. The final, deadly weapon was chosen with care, saved for the jester's use at just the right moment. He spoke of the dead queen. The queen who was murdered early in the war, by the hands of the jester himself. He even remarked how the king had "never even shown her a good time." "Well," the fool giggled out, "at least I had a good time watching you cry over her!"

At that, the king slowly rounded on the laughing captive. Livid vengeance burned in his eyes as he crashed into the jester's lips, clawing the shocked body forcefully with raging hands.

He had had a good time killing his queen?

Well, he was about to show the fool what _his_ idea of a good time was.

The jester closed his eyes in submissive joy as he was stripped, still chained to the tent post. The king was furious to the point of murder, yet restrained that impulse to commit a crime far worse. He vilely defiled the jester's body, listening to his yelps with a perverse satisfaction that just made him even more infuriated with the whole situation. This just drove him to more and more immoral extremes, until they both fell under the raw power of it all, and gasped for air together, becoming one.

When it was over, they met each other's eyes, both intimidated by what they saw in each others' gaze that was reflected perfectly in their own. They instantly recoiled from each other, and spent the rest of the night in solitude, consumed with the implications of their thoughts and actions.

The next day, the battle was narrowly won and the king's army returned home, victorious but in shambles. The jester was taken to the dungeons, yet easily found his way back to the king's court. Their secret gradually became a guilty pleasure, then a sacred ritual, bringing to life the bond they have always shared.

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**Thought I'd post another chapter before I compete today in my DI eXtreme challenge at 7:30. Probably won't get to post the last till tomorrow afternoon when I get back.**

**This one's named after "What Must a King Do?" from the 300 soundtrack, but is actually inspired from the song "Xerxes' Tent". Hawt song. Very hot.**


	5. We Two Kings

We Two Kings

The palace burns. The people have finally had it with the kingdom's endless changing of hands, at the whims of two mad monarchs. A few remain loyal on both sides, but too many have died for each cause. Far too many. So the factions brave enough to revolt now take matters into their own hands.

They surround the jester king with sparks of madness in their eyes, chaining him to the throne as they light the palace aflame. The other king still remains shackled to the wall behind, so they leave him as he is. Then, as the blaze flares up brighter, they race for their lives out of the crumbling palace, shoving each other out of the way into the flames in their selfish haste. Soon, they turn on each other, and leap at each others' throats, only to be obliterated in their self-lit pyre.

The fool grins as only he can as he watches the irony play out to its fullest. Sent to their deaths by their own unwitting hands, while he in turn gets dealt the same card. For his rule was what brought the kingdom to this state, and now he is to be consumed by his own wildfire.

But not if the other captive king can help it.

His last few months have been spent tugging at the slowly slackening chains in secret moments. Now, they are loosened further by the fire, and he nearly breaks free. But it still is not enough.

Not until he sees the jester slump forward in the throne.

With a wild cry of anguish, he summons his most hidden reserve of strength and shatters the chains that hold him. He leaps from the wall to cover the body of his fool, shielding them from the blast as the palace finally gives out and implodes around them.

Hours later, or perhaps years, or maybe just mere seconds, the dust settles around them and both kings stir. The dark king feels a knot loosen from his gut: the fool is yet alive.

As they both try to separate and escape the wreckage, they find they cannot. Looking down at their wrists, they come to notice what most often appears as invisible, save for moments as scarce as this.

A chain.

But this chain is not like the links that trapped them in their own palace just moments before. No, those were manmade, and far too weak to withstand the kind of strength that this chain exhibits. This chain is permanent. It binds the two monarchs together, through thick and thin, across time and space, stretching to encompass the world if it needs to. But it can never break. For it was made long before their time, and will remain long after they are gone.

Looking at their chain now, they silently understand. The walls of the palace will be rebuilt again, just as they always are. It will never be the same, always growing shakier with each passing day, ready to give out with just the slightest nudge; all it would take to topple it over would be a little push. But it will never fall. And until it does, the two kings will war over it, taking their victories and short-lived dynasties as they come.

Carefully, so as not to damage their bodies any further, the two kings take each other into their arms, holding each other quietly in the lull of the blast. Their chain loops gracefully around their wrists, gradually fading until it turns invisible once more, but grows stronger with each reluctant, desperate kiss.

It may not be what they intended at the start of it all – in the beginning, all they wanted was to pull the world to their side. To be a magnet, drawing everyone and everything into their center of gravity. But pole met pole, positive met negative, and instead of ripping their world apart…they found that opposites attract. And they, the two forces, are as opposite as they come. They have collided together in every possible way, forming a separate, unbreakable entity no one will ever understand or sever.

For they are the eternal union.

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**Not really sure where this came from, but I'm glad it did. Hooray for medieval slash! Thus draws this fic to a close for now.**


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